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The gate opened and a body-servant appeared announcing
that one of the great captains with some of his officers
waited to see the king. Cetewayo made a sign,
whereon the servant called out something, and they
entered, three or four of them, saluting loudly.
Seeing me they stopped and stared, whereon Cetewayo
shortly, but with much clearness, repeated to them
and to an induna who accompanied them, what he had
already said to me, namely that I was his guest, sent
for by him that he might use me as a messenger if
he thought fit. He added that the man who dared
to speak a word against me, or even to look at me askance,
should pay the price with his life, however high his
station, and he commanded that the heralds should
proclaim this his decree throughout Ulundi and the
neighbouring kraals. Then he held out his hand
to me in token of friendship, bidding me to “go
softly” and come to see him whenever I wished,
and dismissed me in charge of the induna, one of the
captains and some soldiers.

Within five minutes of reaching my hut I heard a loud-voiced
crier proclaiming the order of the king and knew that
I had no more to fear.

CHAPTER XIV

THE VALLEY OF BONES

The week that followed my interview with Cetewayo
was indeed a miserable time for me. For myself,
as I have said, I had no fear, for the king’s
orders were strictly obeyed. Moreover, the tale
of what had happened to the brute who wished to hunt
me down in the cattle-kraal had travelled far and
wide and none sought to share his fate. My hut
was inviolate and well supplied with necessary food,
as was my mare, and I could wander where I liked and
talk with whom I would. I could even ride to
exercise the horse, though this I did very sparingly
and only in the immediate neighbourhood of the town
for fear of exciting suspicion or meeting Zulus whom
the king’s word had not reached. Indeed
on these occasions I was always accompanied by a guard
of swift-footed and armed soldiers sent “to
protect me,” or more probably to kill me if
I did anything that seemed suspicious.

In the course of my rambles I met sundry natives whom
I had known in the old days, some of them a long while
ago. They all seemed glad to see me and were
quite ready to talk of past times, but of the present
they would say little or nothing, except that they
were certain there would be war. Of Anscombe
and Heda I could hear nothing, and indeed did not
dare to make any direct inquiries concerning them,
but several reliable men assured me that the last
missionaries and traders having departed, there was
not a white man, woman or child left in Zululand except
myself. It was “all black” they said,
referring to the colour of their people, as it had
been before the time of Chaka. So I was forced
to eat out my heart with anxiety in silence, hoping
and praying that Zikali had played an honest part
and sent them away safely.